Transformers: Nexus Point - Part I
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: Unicron is on the move again, threatening every known Transformers universe. In desperation, the Firstforged must recruit five beings to serve as their champions against this dark threat. They wanted heroes... they got a fanboy and four fangirls. Part I of a series.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **

This is only Part I of a planned multi-universe TF crossover, which I hope will encompass multiple Transformers cartoons, comics, films, and other continuities. It's going to be a monster of a fic once it's all said and done, and I have no idea how many parts it will be, so if you choose to come on this journey with me, it'll probably be a long one. Hopefully it's a journey we can all enjoy together, as I hope to make this both an epic adventure and a bit of a deconstruction of the fandom, fanfic, and the franchise itself.

Word of warning - I'm using my own, fan-made version of the Thirteen Firstforged, rather than what the _Covenant of Primus _states. As such, there will be some discrepancies between my Firstforged and what's "canon." Ye have been warned...

* * *

_Flash… a battlefield on a distant world, rocky ground ripped and scorched by a never-ending rain of plasma and missile fire. Mechs slamming into each other, grappling and striking with fists and blades to bring each other down. Oil and fuel and other fluids oozing from torn metal to soak into the ground…_

_Flash… fire raining down on a city. Skyscrapers shattering in a deadly hail of flaming debris and splintered metal. Innocent beings scattering, screaming, trying to outrun the heated shrapnel falling from the sky. Civilians caught in bursts of flame, whirling madly in dances of pain and terror before collapsing…_

_Flash… two mechs hauling a shaking comrade before a dark-armored, green-opticed form with oddly barbed-looking armor. The dark mech giving the cowering being a look of utter disdain, then declaring his fate with the wave of a hand. Screams of terror and despair as the other two fell on their comrade with feral snarls, rending him to shreds…_

_Flash… what was left of a world, now reduced to rocky scraps hanging in the void of space. Lingering pain and horror somehow tainting the very fabric of existence, as if something profane had passed through this area. A horrific emptiness, the kind only left behind by millions of lives being snuffed in an instant…_

"Shut it off already."

A dark chuckle. "This disgusts you, Prima? You truly have lived a sheltered existence these many eons if this is enough to make you ill…"

"Shut up, Maximo, I'm not sheltered! I just hate looking at ugliness for too long. Please, shut it off, before my optics fritz out!"

Vector Prime sighed and shook his head, but he reached out and turned off the holoprojector. Trust Prima to be the delicate silicon-flower of the group, preferring to avert his gaze from anything uncomfortable to look at than face it head-on and actually do something about it.

The meeting place chosen for this gathering was a chamber at the heart of the Nexus Point, with statues of Primus' various forms lining the walls and a ceiling that lay open to the glittering starscape above. No one knew what material formed the walls, floor, or statuary of this chamber – it looked like stone but was harder and smoother than any metal, jet-black and with flecks and swirls of rainbow colors giving it a mystic shimmer. Nor did anyone know who exactly had crafted it, though Vector suspected it was Solus' handiwork. But it made a handy gathering place when two or more Firstforged needed to discuss a vital matter, or if a single one of the Thirteen required a calm place to meditate on a problem.

The entire pantheon of the Thirteen had not met en masse like this in millions of years… not since the Second Great War against Unicron. And Vector wondered if they had waited for too long, if their antisocial ways had not just doomed their kind to extinction.

Vector's gaze moved to take in the assembled mechanisms – the Thirteen Firstforged, the first beings to be created by Primus and charged with protecting all his creations in his absence. They were a widely varying group, ranging in size from tiny enough to fit in the palm of the average mech's hand to gestalt-sized, and wearing a variety of colors and chassis makes. Some, like Quintus and Solus, bore relatively plain-looking armor, while others, like Onyx and Alchemist, boasted armor that was far more striking or ostentatious. All, however, radiated an aura of power and authority, an otherworldly presence that betrayed their true nature to whoever looked upon them.

One mechanism was missing, however… but Vector wouldn't allow himself to dwell on it too much. It had been eons since Megatronus Prime had betrayed their creator – and his brothers and sister – and no amount of reminiscing would bring him back. Better to focus on the now.

"The signs are clear," Vector declared, gesturing to the empty air where the holos of destruction had been playing moments before. "The multiverse is descending into a dark age. In every universe connected to the Nexus, war and unrest are brewing. Cybertronians are becoming corrupt, violent, a barbaric race that has forgotten their origins."

"Tell us somethin' we don't know," Quintus grunted. The scientist of the Thirteen sat back against the wall, feet propped up on an elaborately carved statue of Primus' War Avatar as if it were nothing more than a footrest. "Ya'd have to be blind an' sensorless to miss it."

"Oh, hush you," Solus advised, glaring at her comrade. "He's not finished talking."

Vector waited to see if Quintus had any other comments, then continued when he was met with silence. "The signs are clear – chaos is at hand. Unicron is on the move."

Prima gasped and laid a hand on his chest in a theatrical display of horror. "Unicron! Surely you jest… no, you would not jest about such a horrific possibility…"

Onyx Prime curled his lip plate in a sneer. "So there are a few wars in progress," he snarled. "How does that mean Unicron has managed to regenerate himself already? Our kind has been at war with itself or with other forces since day one! This is nothing new!"

"Nothing ever on this scale," Solus pointed out, frowning. "Usually only one or two universes at a time are engaged in war. This is involving almost every main universe, and many of the sub-universes. And it's hitting a level of savagery we haven't seen since the last time the Great Unmaker was active."

Onyx snorted but didn't comment further.

""If what you say is true," Nexus Prime rumbled, shifting his tremendous bulk as he spoke, "then we have no choice but to act. We've been apart from the multiverse for too long as it is…"

"For good reason!" Alchemist retorted. "Almost all Cybertrons had turned against us! Given up their belief in Primus as little more than a myth! We were once hailed as heroes and scions of Cybertronian-kind, but in the end they rejected us, and our Creator with us!"

"And that's reason enough to let Unicron have his way with the multiverse?" asked Alpha Trion mildly, raising an optic ridge.

"No!" Alchemist snapped. "I never said that! I just mean that surely the inhabitants of the multiverse can defeat Unicron without our help. They've done it before, and I honestly don't feel like sticking out my neck struts for those who made a mockery of us…"

"Alchemist!" snapped Vector. "That line of thought is appalling! Yes, Cybertronians as a whole have grown lax in their observance of Primus and the Firstforged, but that gives us no right to neglect them. Not when it is our solemn duty to protect them."

"True," Amalgamous pointed out from above – the trickster of the Thirteen had, for reasons known only to him, spent this entire meeting clinging to the wall, hanging upside-down over Logos' head like some absurd bat. "But those of us who haven't faded into obscurity by this point have become little more than the aft of jokes by the general populace of the multiverse. I'd say Alchemist has a bit of a right to be bitter."

"_But not a right to condemn our race to extinction,"_ Micronus chirped from his perch on Vector's shoulder, shaking an emphatic fist at the trickster.

Vector nodded. "Like it or not, the universes connected by the Nexus need us more than ever. We MUST come out of hiding, and do what we can to stir Cybertronians to action. We MUST help them prepare for the coming of Unicron. And above all… we must find the Blades, and inform them of this turn of events. They are our greatest ally at this time."

Onyx outright laughed at that. "The Blades have probably forgotten their duties by now! Or they're rusting and moldering away on some rock, cast out and rejected by Cybertronian society as a whole…"

"No," muttered Logos, his voice gurgling and rasping with static as he spoke. "Not rejected. Not cast out. Not forgotten."

Prima gave the dark-armored Firstforged a hopeful look. "You know where they are, then?"

Logos grinned a slimy grin. "Dead."

Liege Maximo cast a fiery-red glare at him. "Don't even joke about that."

"No joke," Logos rasped. "Dead. All five."

"What?" Solus' optics flashed. "How? The last time we saw them, they were in perfect condition!"

"That was vorns ago," Alpha Trion reminded her. "And sadly the Blades are not as lucky as we are – they age, they fall prey to viruses and rust, they get injured and even die. Though I must admit, I wasn't expecting all five of them to have already joined the Well of All Sparks – generally they protect each other rather fiercely…"

"All dead," Logos muttered again, hunching over and rubbing his hands together like an electro-fly. "Blackhawk, killed by pirates. Calypso, melted down in volcano. Lugnut, fatal case of Cosmic Rust. Hotwire, captured and assassinated by Unicron cultists. Stormrider, accident with trash compactor." He clicked his vocalizer and shook his head at the last one. "Even Blades not immune to stupidity."

"So we noticed," Maximo growled.

Vector lowered his head, both silently mourning the deceased Blades and trying to hide his growing apprehension. He had counted on the Blades being able to take care of themselves and keep themselves prepared for another crisis, and on being ready to move out the moment the Firstforged delivered the call. The loss of one or more of them would have been problematic – it took time to train and prepare a Blade, after all, precious time that even the Guardian of the Timestream couldn't stretch – but at least the others would have been on hand to help speed up the training, and to take up the slack of the inexperienced members.

To have lost all five Blades now, when they needed them most, was a scenario he had never foreseen, and while it wasn't their worst-case scenario, it certainly wasn't good news. Not when so few Cybertronians even believed in Primus or the Firstforged… and many of those that DID believe were bitter and angry, wondering how their deity and his disciples could abandon them when they believed they needed him most.

There was another option… but he knew it would not go over well with any of the Thirteen. But it seemed that they would have little choice. It was either taking this long shot, or letting Unicron win.

"_Then what are we waiting for?" _beeped Micronus, shooting to his feet. _"We need to recruit new Blades! Choose new mechs to wield the weapons and be the champions of – eep!" _He wobbled and went tumbling off Vector's shoulder, and only the Time Guardian's swift reflexes kept him from hitting the floor. As it was, his impact against Vector's hand sounded rather painful.

"_Ow," _he groaned belatedly. _"That was dumb."_

"The fall or your suggestion?" demanded Onyx, scowling. "How are we supposed to find new Blades NOW, of all times? Are there even enough candidates to choose from? Believing mechs who are willing and able to help us? Those that believe are weak scholarly types – the warriors are too busy killing each other over stupid causes."

"Don't underestimate the scholars and scientists among our kind," Alchemist said, sounding just a bit offended at Onyx's remark. "We're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves."

"Yes, but this isn't a problem we can just think and science our way out of!" Prima insisted. "We need mechs who can fight as well as think, who are strong as well as resourceful…"

"You forget the most important trait of all," Alpha Trion cut in. "Brawn and intelligence are all well and good, but above all we need _willing _recruits. _Believing _recruits. We can't very well simply snatch the strongest warriors or the most brilliant tacticians off the battlefields, hand them the weapons of the Blades, and tell them to do our bidding. We would only have rebellion on our hands. No… we need mechs who believe and, most of all, care about the fate of the multiverse. Not just about who sits on the throne of Cybertron, but about there BEING a Cybertron left to fight over. We need mechs who will fight for the good of all Cybertronians, and not just their faction. Without that – the will, the belief, the spark to protect all that is good – even the strongest warrior is useless to us."

"And where do you propose we find them?" growled Liege Maximo. "Do you know of some magic hidden sub-universe where these willing, believing mechs live? Because we certainly won't find them anywhere in the main universes."

Vector gave an inward sigh. Well, given that Maximo had almost perfectly orchestrated the perfect opening for him to lay out the other option, he had little choice but to do it. Though part of him wondered if Maximo's words WEREN'T simple coincidence, if he'd known what Vector was about to reveal and prepared his little "unintentional" introduction on purpose. This wouldn't be the first time the shapeshifter had manipulated events to suit his own agenda, and he would bear careful watching from here on out.

But he would have to deal with Maximo later. This crisis took priority.

"There just may be such a universe," he said aloud.

Maximo's optics flashed in triumph. The others simply fixed their gazes on Vector in disbelief.

"NOW you tell us," Onyx grumbled. "Which is it? The one you've been hiding in all these vorns, I presume?"

Vector shook his head. "No… it's not officially part of our multiverse. Rather, it's a universe that has recently drifted close to the Nexus… close enough to make contact for a brief period of time. A century or two, no more… but enough to suit our purposes."

"Enough for Cybertronians to colonize it?" asked Prima, a hopeful smile on his faceplate. "A devout colony of our kind who still remembers us, and will respond to the call for Blades?"

Vector drew in a deep intake and braced himself. _Here it comes… _"Not exactly."

"What do you mean 'not exactly?'" demanded Alchemist. "Either it is or it isn't!"

"There are no Cybertronians in this universe," Vector replied.

"None of our kind?" Alchemist protested. "Then how the Pit do you expect us to recruit from there?!"

"It is populated by another race… one that also inhabits many of the universes connected by the Nexus. One whose fate inevitably becomes inexorably entwined with our own wherever both our kinds exist. One that has proven to be an ally many times… and just may be what we need to overthrow Unicron."

Solus was the first to realize what he was talking about, and she scowled. "You've got to be kidding me. The fate of our kind – of the multiverse – rests on the humans?"

"The fleshlings?" Onyx added, and barked a laugh. "Oh, that's rich! Give the weapons of the Blades to pathetic organic worms who can't even lift them! They'll be crushed thirty seconds into their first battle!"

"Do not underestimate the humans," Alpha Trion advised. "Small and fragile they may be, but they have proven resourceful time and again. And they have long been our greatest allies. Still… suggesting that we recruit our Blades from among them seems a trifle foolhardy. Can a human really be as devoted to Cybertronian-kind as, well, a Cybertronian?"

At that, Vector smiled for the first time since this fateful meeting had begun. "You might be quite surprised, Alpha Trion. Quite surprised indeed…"


	2. Cassie, Maria, Krysta, Spencer, Lore

PORTLAND, OREGON

"So that's John Romero's _Daikatana _for the PC, or as I like to call it, _Dai-crap-tana. _And is it as bad as the Internet likes to let on? Hell yeah!"

If there was one thing Cassie liked about having the apartment to herself over the summer, it was the fact that her roommates weren't around to gripe at her for playing games and making videos. If she had a nickel for every audio clip she had to re-record because one of the three roomies chose to bitch at her mid-sentence… well, she'd have a whole lot of nickels. Maybe enough to pay her college tuition, or at least buy textbooks for a semester. At least with the Terrible Trio absent for the summer, she could record her videos in peace.

She'd tried to explain in the past that her and Maria's Let's Play channel wasn't just a gamer hobby – both of them made money from the ad revenue. Not a lot, but enough to help offset some of their college costs and support their gaming habits – though to be fair her mom and Maria's fiancé purchased a lot of the games they reviewed. Her roommates hadn't bought that story, thinking it was just an excuse to play video games in her spare time instead of having a social life or getting a "real" job.

Ah well. Let 'em stew. She was at least doing something she liked with her time.

"The graphics are crap even for the time period, the plot is nonsensical, and calling the AI moronic is being charitable – your sidekicks spend more time finding stupid ways to kill themselves than actually being useful to your progress. Though I gotta admit, Superfly is an awesome name for a video game character. This game spent years in development Hell without anything to show for it, and some people argue that it probably should have stayed there.

"But I'll be honest – I had a ton of fun playing this thing. Sure, it's frustrating and the graphics are bad and it's a serious step down from Romero's _Doom _games. But there's something almost charming about this game's ineptitude, like a fourteen-year-old who thinks he's being badass by wearing black clothes and combat boots and an Insane Clown Posse T-shirt and cussing like a sailor and doesn't realize that he just looks goofy. Yeah, that's this game – the wannabe badass who turns out to just be too goofy to take seriously. And I admit I had more fun playing this train wreck than playing some of the halfway decent games in my collection, so Romero succeeded there, I guess.

"Bottom line: horrible game, but great to play with friends watching for the same reason it's great to watch _The Room _at your next late-night party – it's a hilarious and wonderful bonding experience. Probably not what Romero was intending when he threatened to make us all his bitch in the advertising campaign, but he can take what he can get, I guess.

"Coming up next week on _Two Nerds One Couch_ – my comrade-in-arms SnowCrash will take the reins for the moment we've all been waiting for! That's right, my friends – next episode is _Transformers: Rise of the Dark Spark! _Will this unholy fusion of Michael Bay's universe of boobs and explosions and the hey-it-actually-has-a-coherent-plot-for-once _Prime _cartoon succeed beyond our expectations, or bomb faster than a Shylaman movie? Find out next week, but until then… this is GiggedyDoo signing off."

And with that, she stopped the recording and whooped in relief, pumping her arms into the air. Audio for the _Daikatana _review was done! Now she just had to edit everything together in cohesive whole, then let Maria look it over and make sure it was fit for posting. Oddly enough, as much as she liked playing the games and recording her commentary for them, editing everything together was her favorite part of the process. There was something satisfying about taking all the video and audio she'd collected and patching it together into an actual creation instead of a random assortment of parts.

Then again, the process of creation had always fascinated her. Probably why she was an artist – there was something both soothing and thrilling about taking raw materials and creating something wholly original from them. Whether it was setting a pencil to paper and creating a sketch, making Let's Play videos for the _Two Nerds One Couch_ YouTube channel, or scrounging scraps from the college dumpsters to build her Optimus Prime cosplay, watching something come together and knowing it was her creation filled her with pride.

Too bad her roomies didn't see it the same way, and endlessly griped about her playing video games or taking up the kitchen table to glue bits of cardboard and foam together. Their idea of a good time was going out and getting drunk on the weekends, or sneaking a boy into their bedrooms despite Mercedes' "no boys in the apartment" rule – a rule she broke more often than she enforced. Cassie rolled her eyes a bit. Why were they taking art courses if they weren't actually interested in creating art? It made no sense to her.

She hadn't exactly wanted roommates in the first place… but being the only child of a single mother who didn't exactly make a fortune from running a small resort in Bend, it wasn't as if she had many options. Her mom had suggested the arrangement, since Mercedes was the daughter of one of her friends, and despite the fact that Cassie and Mercedes got along about as well as oil and water, it was at least cheaper than on-campus housing… and safer than a cardboard box on the streets.

She opened Adobe Elements and set to work. No use brooding over the Terrible Trio when they weren't even here to spoil her evening. Better to see if she could get this video together before the weekend was over, and send it to Maria for a preview before she posted it.

* * *

ORLANDO, FLORIDA

Maria wondered how someone could always sound so relentlessly chipper on the phone when it had to be four in the morning where she lived. Then again, she supposed she should have stopped wondering anything about her friend years ago.

"_Mariaaaaaaaa! I just met a girl named Mariaaaaaaaaa! And suddenly that name will never be the same-"_

"Cut the Broadway performance, Cassie. It's about the video."

"Oh goodie! How'd I do? Think I should cut back on the Photoshop effects? I admit I went a little nuts with those."

"I have no idea," Maria admitted. "The file you sent me was corrupted."

"Huh… that's odd. It was perfectly innocent when I sent the attachment. Oh God, you think it passed through 4chan before it got to you?"

"Har, har, har. Just resend the file, will you? I'll watch it and give you critique on it tonight."

"Will do. Say, how's the _Dark Spark _review shaping up?"

"You want an honest answer?"

"I don't mind spoilers if that's what you're asking. The game any good?"

"It blows. Hard. Like, the Bay-ness of the movie-verse infected this thing like Cosmic Rust. I'm gonna keep playing it through, because I paid fifty bucks and waited in line two hours for this thing, but it's gonna suck."

Cassie whistled. "Damn. Maybe I should wait for a used copy, huh?"

"I'm surprised you didn't pre-order one."

"I'm kinda broke at the moment, and Mom doesn't like it when I use her rescue checks to buy video games. Which I guess is understandable." A moment's pause. "Hey, maybe I can buy your copy off of you when you're done?"

"I'll just send it to you when I'm through. Don't think I'm gonna replay this one."

"Whee! You're the best, Maria! Hey, you mind if I make a rebuttal or companion video to your _Dark Spark _review? Like we did with _War For Cybertron?_"

"Don't care. Just resend that _Daikatana _review so I can look it over. And you better not have made Chuck Norris jokes all through it like you did in the _Duke Nukem _review."

"I only made two Chuck Norris jokes, and they were funny."

"Chuck Norris jokes are old news. We gotta stay somewhat fresh if we want people to keep watching our channel."

"Says the girl who stuck a Rick-Roll in her _Xenogears _review."

"That was two years ago."

"Hey, if you're allowed a Rick-Roll, I'm allowed Chuck Norris. Okay, resent! Tell me if it came through."

Maria re-checked her e-mail and opened the one from "GiggedyDoo," then clicked the attachment. "Hmmm… this one looks like it came through okay. I gotta get ready for class here, but I'll let you know what I think when I get home this evening."

"Thanks, Maria. Hey, you excited for _Age of Extinction _tonight?"

"That suckfest?"

"Come on, the movies aren't THAT bad! Sure, they're not Oscar material, but if you just turn your brain off for a few hours…"

"I should be able to enjoy a movie without having to turn off my brain. If you have to do that to enjoy a movie, it fails. And Bayformers fails in a lot more respects than that. I don't understand how you can like them as much as you do."

She could almost hear Cassie's smirk over the phone. "You got midnight-showing tickets, didn't you?"

"Go to bed, Cassie," she retorted, and hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed. The bedsheet shifted, as if the phone's impact had woken up the bed's occupant, though she hadn't thought she'd tossed the phone THAT hard.

"Whozzat?" Skye muttered, poking his head out of the blankets.

"Cassie and I were discussing the channel," she replied. "Go back to sleep."

"Eh, I was gonna get up anyway." He sat up, rubbing the heel of his hand against his face. "Don't you have work this morning?"

She shrugged. "Professor Paxton's pretty lenient if I'm a few minutes late. Besides, I want to make sure this video comes through okay."

"Don't be too late." He slid out of bed the rest of the way and shuffled toward the bathroom. "Dibs on the shower."

"Don't use up all the hot water," she retorted as he shut the door behind him.

While Skye showered, she headed out into the kitchen to make breakfast for the both of them. Between his job as a lifeguard at Blizzard Beach and her classes, summer job as a typist for one of her professors, and work on the Let's Play channel, they didn't get nearly as much quality time as she would like. So she insisted that they eat breakfast together every morning, giving them a chance to talk and prepare for the day instead of just grabbing and running.

Maria knew he didn't like this arrangement. Not necessarily her schooling and his job, but the fact that they'd been engaged for a year now and still had no wedding date set. But he had promised to hold off on the wedding until she had her degree, and had been relatively good about not pestering her about it. Oh, he teased her about it from time to time, but she noticed that he'd made fewer comments about it the closer her graduation day got. She hoped that was a good sign, and not that he was having second thoughts about the relationship…

She sighed and set out bowls for the both of them. Damn it, she was doing it again. She knew she had trust issues – growing up in a string of foster homes didn't exactly give her experience at developing a lasting relationship, let alone hope of a stable family of her own. All her life had been about constant change, and she had learned not to grow attached to any of her foster families, since odds were she would never see any of them again.

And so when Skye had surprised her that night at the Florida BotCon with a custom-made ring – not a diamond but still stunning in her eyes – and a plea to marry him, her first instinct had been to turn and run. Hell, she might very well have bolted had Cassie not been right there with a death grip on her arm, laughing and ordering her to "say yes, stupid!" She was so used to anyone she cared about disappearing forever that she was sure Skye would follow suit, that agreeing to marry him would result in him eventually leaving her.

Maybe what they needed was some relationship counseling before they tied the knot, she decided as she set out the last of the breakfast fixings. Primus knew he'd been remarkably patient with her all this time, but maybe a professional could help her with her fears…

Skye walked in, shaking his head like a dog and sending his damp hair sticking out in all directions. He gave her a look she'd come to know all too well and set something down on the table. "This was in the shower."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea how he got in there. I keep telling you they walk around when we're not looking."

"Likely story," he teased, and nudged the Megatron figure into the center of the table before sitting down. "Fancy spread. You must have slaved over a hot stove all morning."

"You want fancy, you make breakfast tomorrow morning," Maria replied, sitting down beside him. "Pass the Cocoa Puffs, will you?"

He laughed and handed the box over, then reached for the orange juice. "So we still good on going to the movie tonight?"

"Yeah, I might as well see this thing. It can't be any worse than _Revenge of the Fallen, _can it?"

"Don't tempt fate." He poured himself a bowl of granola and splashed milk over it. "You know, if you're so convinced this movie's going to suck, we could have waited a few days before seeing it instead of going for the midnight showing."

"And then Cassie would have given me a shot-by-shot synopsis of the movie in the meantime," Maria reminded him. "If I want to see this thing without being spoiled, it's gotta be as soon as possible."

"Right," he replied, smirking a bit. "Next you'll be telling me you watch _Doctor Who _for the riveting special effects."

"Shut up and pass the milk, dork."

* * *

SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH

Krysta walked into her apartment to hear a voice snarling in her ear, uttering a sinister threat.

"Surrender the cube and you may live to be my pet!"

"Geez, Megatron, did you get out of your cage again?" she muttered, turning to face the speaker. "I'm gonna have to padlock that thing, aren't I?"

The African Gray parrot blinked at her, yellow eyes wide and staring as if caught in a permanent expression of surprise, then opened his beak again. "You are either lying or you're stupid!"

"Be nice or no treats," she chided, and held out her hand. Megatron uttered a low chirr and stepped off the bookshelf to perch on her wrist, and she carried him to his cage in the living room.

"I can't even make a run to Wal-Mart without you getting out," she muttered as she set him on his perch and closed the door. "Silly bird. Hold tight and I'll feed you as soon as I get stuff put away."

"I would have waited an eternity for this!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll hurry."

Once she'd gotten the groceries put away and Megatron's food dish filled she went to her computer, a year-old Dell she'd dubbed Teletraan-1, and booted it up. She was expecting an important e-mail, and if Astrid had put off the project again she was going to be annoyed. Seriously, how could someone put off a paying project just so they could make another comic series about how much the live-action movies sucked…

The phone rang just then, and she turned to answer it… only to turn right back to Teletraan-1 when she saw the name on the caller ID. Not tonight. She could only deal with one drama queen tonight, and at this point she'd rather deal with the one who actually did what she promised to do half the time and wasn't a blood relative.

Her answering machine kicked in on the fifth ring – _"This is Krysta Pendleton. You should know what to do after the beep."_

"_Krysta, this is your mom," _came the reply. _"You know you could leave a politer greeting on your answering machine. Anyhow, give me a call back, okay? Ephraim wants to know if you'll still be one of Beth's bridesmaids at their wedding. Love you, sweetie. Don't be a stranger, okay? Bye-bye."_

Krysta sighed and opened her e-mail account, making a mental note to call back… tomorrow. How many times did she have to tell them that she had no intention of being a bridesmaid? She'd attend the wedding, she wasn't that heartless, but she had no interest in fulfilling the "always a bridesmaid, never a bride" role. Especially since weddings were the perfect opportunity for every relative she had to corner her and ask why she hadn't tied the knot yet. In their minds there was something inherently WRONG with a girl who didn't have a husband by the time she was twenty-one, and when they weren't playing matchmaker they were demanding to know why she was being so picky or stubborn about it.

Funny… a few years ago she would have been ecstatic for any contact with her family, even if it was yet another "well, goodness, why aren't you married yet, what are you waiting for?" Now she just wanted all of them to bug off and leave her alone. Sort of a "be careful what you wish for" scenario, she supposed.

_Phew, Astrid came through. _She relaxed at finding the e-mail in her inbox, and she opened it and began to peruse the attachments. Comic pages, all un-inked and uncolored sketches, depicting scenes of giant robots in combat, interacting with humans, striking epic poses or featuring close-ups of their faces in various expressions…

It was the file marked "COVER" that made her heart swell with pride. Not the subject matter – an image of Optimus Prime in disgrace, shoulders slumped and head cupped in his hands, with a triumphant Megatron cackling in the background. But it so effectively conveyed the emotions she hoped to invoke in this issue that part of her wanted to get up and do a little dance of joy. The first issue of "Megatron's Master Plan" was finally roughed out, and it was going to be epic.

_Astrid, you've outdone yourself again, _Krysta thought as she clicked her way through the scans. _This could be the best issue yet. Now we send it in and hope the suits think the same thing… and don't order too many changes._

She smiled a little as she typed up her thoughts on the illustrations, praising her work and pointing out one or two things that could use some tweaking. Both she and Astrid knew that IDW had dumped a crappy assignment on them when they'd assigned the two of them to write and illustrate one of their side series, _Next Generation. _Despite the name, it was essentially converting old episodes of the G1 cartoon into comic format, mostly to appease old-school fans who complained that the new comics, cartoons, and movies were bastardizing their hazy childhood memories of the "masterpiece" that was the original series. Doubtless IDW figured that they could get away with shoveling that series onto a couple of unknowns, saving their more established names for their _Dark Cybertron _and _MTMTE _series.

Knowing they'd been stuck with a crap assignment didn't mean they had to turn in crap in return, however, and while Krysta hadn't been happy with the job, she had been determined to make the most of it. And she and Astrid had spent a long Skype session brainstorming a way to do the impossible – take the surreal, extremely episodic G1 cartoon and turn it into something with actual continuity, an engaging storyline, and plenty of action, but still keeping the humor and feel of the old show. They didn't want to make scene-by-scene recaps of old episodes, complete with animation errors and plot holes; they wanted to create something people would genuinely read and enjoy.

It had meant tweaking several elements of the old show to make more sense, and eliminating certain episodes entirely – there was just no way to make things like "A Decepticon in King Arthur's Court" fit into the revamped storyline. And of course, some fans had still screamed "they changed it, it sucks!" But the series was proving reasonably popular, and even IDW had seemed pleased by it, enough to give them the go-ahead to adapt several more episodes beyond the original dozen they had requested.

"Megatron's Master Plan" would be the first multi-parter episode they were trying to adapt, and since it happened to be one of her favorites from the old show, she had decided to try to cover it in four issues instead of the usual two. She just hoped they could manage it without making it feel rushed or cramped at all. But looking at the art, she realized she needn't have worried – it was going to work out splendidly.

And if this project panned out, then hopefully she'd be able to get her NEXT project approved by IDW… though she wasn't going to bank on that quite yet. One step at a time. See how _New Generation _worked out, THEN try to pitch _World War Mech _to them. She figured she'd have a better chance of getting her "Autobots in WWII alt forms" idea approved once she had some semi-successful titles under her belt.

Astrid had her own reservations about the _World War Mech_ project – she had told Krysta more than once "doesn't it bother you that if they say yes, you'll essentially be getting paid to write fanfic?" Krysta guessed that she did have a point – what they were doing was pretty much professional fanfic of the original series. But if Hasbro and IDW said yes, what was the problem?

At least Astrid had kept sort of quiet about her going to see _Age of Extinction _tomorrow. In her opinion the movies were garbage, and she didn't understand why Krysta kept going to watch them. Krysta didn't exactly think they were masterworks herself – they were guilty pleasures, popcorn pictures that were just fun to watch when you wanted some non-cerebral entertainment. In that respect, the movies had succeeded on some level.

She finished the e-mail and fired it back, then turned to the parrot cage. "So what should we do for fun tonight?"

Megatron studiously ignored her, climbing up the side of the cage to hang by his feet from the ceiling.

"We have all sorts of options. We can watch the new _Legend of Korra _episode, we can troll Crunchyroll for any interesting anime… hell, we can even go outside for a change. The kids love it when they see a crazy lady walking down the street with a parrot on her shoulder."

Megatron eyed her, head cocked to one side, and spoke: "StarSCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAM!"

"Yeah, it has been awhile since I updated the blog, huh?" She laughed. "And you're right, it's about time I gave that horrible 'nesting' fanfic a sporking, huh?"

Megatron squawked once and turned to climb back down the side of the cage.

"You're a lot of help." She turned back to the computer and opened up a Word document – she liked to type up her blog posts in a word processor before committing them to a browser – and set to work on another post to _Tales From the Pit: One Brave Reader vs. The Worst of the Wide World of Fanfic. _She hadn't expected her riffs on bad fanfic to prove so popular with the general readership of the Internet, but then, if blogs like _Stuff White People Like _or _Reasons My Kid Is Crying _could go big, so could _Tales From the Pit, _she supposed.

Maybe it wasn't exactly fair for an established IDW writer to pick on fanficcers like this. She did have a soft spot for fanfic, given that she had gotten her start at writing by posting crappy _Pokemon _fanfic online. But she liked to think she was doing the world a service – separating the worst fanfic from the best and warning potential readers and writers on what to avoid.

And besides, she had even targeted one or two of her old fanfics in this blog, so she figured it was somewhat fair. Though she doubted anyone knew "Krysta Pendleton" had once been "Rapidash414," so she felt somewhat safe there.

She opened the terrible fanfic in question so she could refer to it for quotes when necessary, then began to type.

"_Dear Transformers MPREG writers – ROBOTS DO NOT LAY EGGS."_

* * *

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

"So what's going on here? Why are they saving the Autobot?"

Spencer glanced up from the cutting board. "Which episode are you watching again?"

"Hell if I can remember," Amelia replied, not looking up from her laptop. "The one where it opens with it snowing in June."

"Oh, 'Fire in the Sky,'" Spencer realized. "He's not an Autobot yet, and he's an old friend of Starscream's."

"Starscream's the jet with the Cobra Commander voice, right?"

"Yup. Same voice actor even."

"The guy's got blue eyes, doesn't that mean he's an Autobot?"

"He's not one yet. He becomes one later in the series, though."

"Oh… this show's really weird. Why do you like it so much?"

Spencer chuckled and returned to chopping celery. "If you think 'Fire in the Sky' is weird, wait until you get to some of the other episodes, like 'God Gambit' or 'Nightmare Planet.' They make 'Fire in the Sky' look pretty normal."

She shot him a smirk. "They must have been on some really good acid when they made this show."

"It was the '80s," Spencer replied, as if that explained everything.

Spencer and Amelia were the only ones in the apartment tonight, on the second floor of the same brownstone that housed the family restaurant, Piccolo's_. _Their parents were taking advantage of their one day off for the week to go to a movie, which gave the siblings the run of the apartment for the night. The risk of either of them inviting a ton of friends over for a wild party was pretty slim – somehow they had managed to raise two nerd kids, and their idea of a wild night was turning the volume on an _Avengers _movie all the way up and popping a load of popcorn to accompany it.

Tonight was fairly low-key – Amelia was watching random stuff on YouTube while Spencer tried out a new recipe. He hoped that if this one panned out, he could convince his dad to add it to the menu or at least run it one night for a special. That wasn't terribly likely in his opinion – Dad was stubborn and refused to alter a "classic" menu for any reason – but it never hurt to try as far as he was concerned.

Amelia snorted a bit as something in the "Fire in the Sky" episode struck her as funny. Spencer smiled a little to himself and scraped the celery to one side before starting on the parsley. His sister's interests mostly leaned toward anime and superhero comics and movies, and she claimed not to understand his obsession with Transformers. But of late she had decided to give his interest a chance, and was steadily working her way through the G1 episodes. He had a feeling she would come out of this experience more baffled at his interest than ever, but at least she was trying.

"You know, for having all these epic abilities and big guns and being able to turn into fighter jets and stuff, these guys like to punch each other a lot."

"It's a franchise aimed at boys," Spencer replied. "They're going for what they think boys like. Just look at the Dinobots."

Amelia laughed. "Giant robot dinosaurs that breathe fire. That's pretty much crack for an eight-year-old boy, huh?"

"Yeah." He tossed the parsley and celery into a bowl with the lobster pieces and began to mix in the dressing. "You wanna taste-test this for me when I'm done?"

"Oh, I'm your guinea pig now?" she asked. "Whatcha making?"

"Lobster rolls."

"Oh yum, gimmie!" She twisted around on the sofa to watch him. "Isn't lobster super expensive, though?"

He shook his head. "Ricky's got a brother who works at the docks. He set me up." He owed the assistant chef at the diner a favor for that, but no need to tell Amelia that said favor was finding a way to set up a date with her at some point.

"You know… Dad's not gonna add this to the menu. I hope you're not going to suggest that he does. He didn't like any of the other ideas…"

"He liked them pretty well," Spencer countered. "He just said he didn't see a reason to add them to the menu. I'm hoping if I find a recipe he likes, he'll give it a shot. Even if it's just a one-night special." He finished tossing the lobster salad and went to stick it in the fridge so the flavors could blend a bit. "We've gotta update the menu, Amelia. We're losing customers – our place is old, and people are bored with it. We've got to get Dad to change something or we'll lose the place."

She shook her head. "You know how stubborn he is. And he'd rather not alienate the people who've been coming for years. Which makes sense when you think about it."

"Yeah, but his old customers are dying or moving away. We've got to do something to keep things fresh. Even if it's just adding one new thing to the menu to get people interested again."

"It's gonna take more than lobster rolls or your salted-caramel bacon cake to get more people coming in," Amelia pointed out. "Even if the bacon cake was a lot better than it sounded."

"It'd be a start," he pointed out. "Just don't want him to lose the place when it's been his life."

"I thought you hated Piccolo's."

"I do NOT hate it. I just don't want to work there forever is all. Want to open my own place someday." He leaned on the back of the couch and peered at her laptop screen. "What are you watching now? That's not 'Fire in the Sky.'"

"Oh, this is some YouTube channel," Amelia replied. "_Two Nerds One Couch_. They're funny."

Spencer chuckled. "That they are. Which video are you watching? Their _Duke Nukem Forever _review's pretty funny."

"It's a Japanese Game. _One Piece Unlimited Cruise. _GiggedyDoo just sounds confused through the whole thing, it's hilarious."

"She often is when it's a Japanese game. SnowCrash'll probably give a more serious review on it, since Japanese games are her specialty." He snorted as GiggedyDoo cursed at the game in the video. "Want anything with your lobster roll?"

"Got any more of that bacon cake?"

"Coming up." He pushed away from the couch. "This is going to be the unhealthiest night of eating ever."

"But the tastiest."

"True." He went to go split the rolls and prepare them for filling. "You still up for going to the movie with me tomorrow night?"

"If Mom and Dad let us get away from the restaurant long enough to go, then yeah. Think it's gonna be as stupid as the last one?"

"It's Michael Bay. You don't go see a Michael Bay movie for the riveting plot or excellent characterization. You go for bullets, explosions, and maybe some hot chicks."

"Got a point. Guess you can't say the guy's not predictable, huh?"

"True, very true."

* * *

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

_So… why does this blogger hate this story so much anyhow? _Lore wondered as she clicked the "add to bookmarks" button. _It's not as bad as she makes it out to be. Yeah, the egg thing is weird at first, but it's unique and kinda cute. And at least the writer can spell and use proper grammar, which is more than a lot of writers can do._

Funny, Lore thought as she went back to the _Tales from the Pit _website and scanned the older posts for anything interesting. She had come to this website expecting a quick laugh, and here she was enjoying some of the fics for what they were instead of just their sporked versions. Different tastes and all that.

A soft whine came from one of the cages nearby, interrupting Lore's focus. She set her laptop down and turned to the cage to soothe its occupant, a Labradoodle with sad brown eyes and one hind leg in a cast. The poor dog had just had surgery to put a steel rod in his leg, and she didn't doubt for a second that he was in a lot of pain despite the painkillers.

"Poor puppy," she murmured, holding a hand to the cage door. The dog sniffed her fingers, then poked his tongue through the bars to lick her hand before settling down with a dramatic groan.

"Wish I had treats to give you," she whispered, then returned to her sleeping bag and laptop. Dr. Henderson had advised her not to give extra treats to the patients without her consent, and while Lore wanted desperately to spoil every animal that came into the clinic, she didn't want to mess with their health either. So the Labradoodle would have to wait until the vet came in at eight.

Technically Lore shouldn't even be in the clinic this late – the clinic closed at five, and most staff were supposed to go home by ten or so. But her parents had been fighting again, and it had gotten so unbearable that she had packed up her sleeping bag and computer and gone to take refuge at work. The vet didn't mind it so much, because it meant someone was watching the animals and could notify her quickly if there was a late-night emergency.

Lore settled in her corner and continued to read. She had another hour or so before she absolutely had to sleep, if she wanted to get in a good six or seven hours before the clinic opened in the morning. She'd already brought a change of clothes and a few granola bars from home, so it was just a matter of eating fast and sneaking into the bathroom to clean up and change to be ready for work.

One of these days, she swore, she would have a place of her own. Right now she didn't make enough for an apartment of her own, and so had to make do with living with her parents. But that situation wouldn't last forever – one of these days she'd find something that paid a bit better and would let her find her own place, or she'd find a roommate who could split rent and other expenses with her. Either of those options would work.

For now, though, she would make do with what she had. Her job at the clinic wasn't terrible, even if it was heartbreaking seeing animals in pain or even dying on a regular basis. She loved working with all the critters, and Dr. Henderson was a good woman who always had time to lend a listening ear when Lore had a frustrating day at home. Her relationship with her parents would always be rather strained – they couldn't understand how their only daughter could turn out to be such a nerd – but then, almost everyone she knew had some beef or other with their parents.

At least her parents could only be annoyed at her obsession with anime, Transformers, and _My Little Pony _for now. If they ever found out about her OTHER obsession, she had a feeling she'd be kicked out of the house faster than she could blink. But so long as they never got their hands on her laptop – and found the plethora of fanart and fanfic she'd saved onto its hard drive – she'd be safe.

She found a promising-looking entry on _Tales from the Pit _and clicked on it. So far the fics the writer happened to find were evenly split between "so bad they're hilarious to make fun of" and "she thinks they're bad but I like them anyhow," and either way they were entertaining. She was going to have to watch this one a little more closely.

She was three posts into the blog's sporking of _My Inner Life _when she finally realized that she'd read the same paragraph three times without fully processing it. Time to call it a night, then. She shut down the laptop and set it aside, then went to make a final check on the animals. Just three patients tonight – the Labradoodle, a calico cat that had been spayed just this afternoon and was still sore and grumbly, and a German Shepherd undergoing chemo.

Lore made sure everyone was fairly comfortable for the night and water dishes were full before leaving the animals to rest for the night. She'd always had a soft spot for animals, which just made it all the more unfortunate that her parents wouldn't allow any pets, citing her mother's allergies. Funny, Mom's allergies were perfectly forgiving when it came to going to the horse or dog races, but somehow having a pet was off-limits. Maybe there was a difference between watching animals at the racetrack and keeping one in the house 24/7. Or maybe it was just her being a brat about it. Who knew?

She turned on her MP3 player to some soft music and tucked an earbud in – she usually slept better with some soft music playing – then settled down to rest. Tomorrow was another day of work… and then her boss was taking her to the movie tomorrow night. And getting treated to a first-day showing of _Age of Extinction _would be good enough to make up for any crap she went through.


	3. Unicron's First Strike

"Mommy, I wanna picture with Optimus Prime!"

"Okay, okay, we'll get a picture… and don't hug onto his legs, honey! You need to ask him first!"

Cassie laughed and waved the little boy over. "Oh, it's okay, ma'am! He can hug me, so long as he's careful."

The woman had just raised her phone to get a picture, but her eyes widened at hearing Cassie's voice. "Oh! You're a girl!"

The boy who had wanted the picture in the first place, a skinny eight-year-old with a mess of freckles and a Bumblebee T-shirt, gave his mom an offended look. "Optimus Prime's not a girl!"

Cassie giggled again and put her hands on the boy's shoulders, posing for the picture before things got too awkward. She supposed she should have been a little more annoyed that she couldn't go three steps without someone stopping to demand a picture, but really, she was flattered. It meant all the hard work going into putting the costume together had paid off.

It was half an hour before the midnight showing of _Transformers: Age of Extinction _at a theater not far from campus, and Cassie had decided to hang out in the lobby and greet people while waiting for the movie to start. She wasn't particularly worried about her seat being taken – her custom-made Pharma plushie was "saving" her seat for her back in the theater. And it was a great excuse for her to test-drive the costume, so to speak, by wearing it out in public and seeing if she would be able to stand wearing it for long stretches of time at a convention.

So far, she figured as a couple of thirty-something men rushed up for a photo op, the evening had been a success. The costume chafed somewhat and she walked like a Kaiju-movie monster, and the mask was stuffy and offered no peripheral vision, but all in all she was satisfied with how it looked and fit. And judging by the enthusiastic response from the crowd, they were impressed with how it looked as well.

"You think that dude works here?" asked one of the men as they stowed their phones away and walked off.

"Sucks to be him if that's the case," another one laughed. "You couldn't pay me enough to wear that thing."

Well, goof-ups regarding her gender were only to be expected, she figured. Most people assumed that women only cosplayed as scantily dressed superheroes or short-skirted anime characters. Obviously none of them had ever been to a BotCon, where about three-quarters of all the cosplayers were female, regardless of the "gender" of the character…

Her phone alarm buzzed in an inside pocket of the costume, and she waved off the group of teens clamoring for yet another photo and turned to make her way toward the bathroom. Fifteen minutes until showtime; that should be enough time to strip off the costume, hand it to a theater employee for safekeeping until after the show, and get to her seat. Then it was just a matter of sitting back and enjoying two and a half hours of explosions, giant robot mayhem, and meatbags being annoying. Hey, she knew what she was getting into by buying tickets; she wasn't going to sit through a Michael Bay movie expecting _Gone With the Wind. _She had her guilty pleasures, and she had no qualms about enjoying them.

Cassie had just grabbed the door handle when a sudden chorus of screams made her turn her head. She had to crane her neck a lot further than usual to get a look – the mask really narrowed her field of vision – but when she caught sight of the cause of the ruckus she froze in place.

At first she thought it was another cosplayer, albeit a wickedly talented one. Any costume-maker who could tackle one of the Bayverse mechs successfully was pretty awesome in her book, though she didn't recognize the character right away. He-she-it looked almost like that Predator-esque Decepticon from the third movie, heck if she could remember the name…

Then she noticed the "cosplayer" had blood on its claws… and that its mouth was open, the lips and jaws moving in ways far too intricate for even the most advanced animatronics to pull off. Its optics glowed a weird violet, and even from here she could hear pistons and joints hissing and grinding with every step – steps too fluid and "organic" for this to just be an overeager cosplayer. Even the strange dreadlock-like tendrils on its head writhed with movement, giving the thing the look of a grotesque, metallic Medusa.

Later Cassie would admit that any thought of being terrified of the creature was mostly shoved to the back of her mind at that moment. For now, all she could think was _holy shit, it's a real-live Transformer, this is so freaking AWESOME!_

The being gave a hoarse, metallic roar and slashed out at the crowd, and moviegoers scattered with panicked screams. One, a bearded man in a "Me Grimlock No Like You" T-shirt, went down with a howl of pain, strips of cloth and skin ripped out of his back. His buddy grabbed his arms and tried to drag him away, but the creature grabbed at his legs and tried to yank him back, starting off a brutal tug-of-war with the poor wounded nerd in the middle.

_Okay, this is decidedly less than awesome, _she thought as she released the restroom door handle and broke into a shambling run. Damn it, when a Transformer showed up in real life it was supposed to be an epic and awe-inspiring event, not a scene out of a slasher flick. And she'd be fragged if she was going to let some punk-ass Decepticon ruin her movie night or anyone else's. Somebody had to stop this thing – and seeing as the rest of the people in the lobby seemed more preoccupied with running around like chickens with their heads cut off, it was up to her to stop it.

The realization that she had no idea HOW to stop it didn't occur to her until she had slammed into the creature's side and bounced off, almost falling on her rear end. The mech barely flinched, turning to glower at her with burning violet optics.

"Hey ugly!" she shouted. "Pick on somebody your own size!"

The mech snarled, then dropped the wounded nerd's legs and turned to fully face Cassie. Evidently, despite being a good three feet taller than her, it decided she was close enough to its size to count.

"Aw, shit." Cassie turned and bolted as fast as the makeshift armor on her legs would allow, the mech hot on her heels. This had been a BAD idea.

* * *

"Wow. That was _baaaaaad_."

Skye sighed and shook his head. "I kept telling you that we didn't have to see it on the first day."

Maria ignored him and continued to rant. "I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn't expect it to be _baaaaad. _I mean, usually there's at least one redeeming quality in a Bay movie. With the first one it was Spielberg's thumbprint all over the movie, with the second it was Jetfire, the third had Leonard Nimoy and John Malkovich and an actual genuinely emotional scene with the Autobots getting kicked off Earth… this had zip. Zilch. Nada. Not even the Dinobots were enough to save it."

"I dunno, I kinda liked the Dinobots." Skye took her arm and led her out of the theater. "Wanna stop by Jack In The Box for a milkshake before we go home?"

"Sure, why not," Maria replied. "And I might have liked the Dinobots if Bay had actually DONE something with them, but I guess he can't even do THAT right. They just felt thrown in there. And don't get me started on Drift – geez, and I thought Drift in the IDW comics was a Japanese stereotype, but he's nothing compared to Bayformer Drift…"

Skye just chuckled softly and herded her out to his Chevy Impala. "Dear, listen to yourself. You sound like a Gee-Wunner."

"I'm not a Gee-Wunner," Maria retorted. "I just have some standards when it comes to my Transformers series. At least _Prime _has a coherent storyline and mostly focuses on the robot characters. And Optimus Prime might be boring in it, but at least he's not psychotic."

"I didn't see Prime as psychotic in this movie," Skye countered as he opened the passenger-side door for her. "Somewhat jaded and cynical, but given that his entire species is being hunted to extinction, I think he's got a bit of a right to that."

"C'mon, at least a third of his dialogue in this movie consisted of shouting 'I'LL KILL YOU!' at the top of his lungs. Vocalizer. Whatever." She climbed into the car and buckled herself in. "Jaded and cynical people don't do that."

"I don't think most truly psychotic people do either," Skye laughed as he settled into the driver's seat.

She gave him a mock glare. "Are you laughing at me?"

"You're adorable," he told her. "It's cute seeing you get so worked up over what you like."

Despite her annoyance with the terrible movie the two of them had just sat through, she couldn't help a smile in Skye's direction. "I probably annoy you with how into this I get, don't I?"

"Sweetie, if I were the type to make your favorite TV show a deal-breaker in our relationship, I don't think you'd want to date me anyhow." He backed out of their parking spot and swung the vehicle around toward the exit. "You may be a little more into your interests than most people, but that's just who you are. Besides, I've met some hardcore Disney enthusiasts at my job, and some of them make your obsession look positively tame in comparison."

She snorted. "You work at a water park."

"A Disney-run water park."

"Still a water park. How many Disney nuts do you get there anyhow?"

"More than you think. Did I tell you about the chick who tried to go on one of the slides in an Ariel costume the other day and got stuck?"

Maria snorted. "Oh gods, I bet that was hilarious. Wait, human!Ariel or mermaid!Ariel?"

"Mermaid. And believe me, it wasn't hilarious at the time…"

Skye's voice trailed off, and he braked the Impala to a stop. Maria opened her mouth to ask him what the holdup was, only to shut it as she caught a glimpse of what was blocking their path – a dark silver sports car with tinted windows.

"Asshole," she grumbled. "Who parks their car right across the way out of the parking lot?"

Skye didn't answer, only reached over and locked the doors.

"Skye?"

"I got a bad feeling about this," he explained.

"Don't be paranoid, just turn around and go out the other exit," she told him, though she couldn't help feeling a flutter of anxiety as well. Something about this just didn't feel right. Even the most asshole-ian Floridians normally didn't park this badly… unless they were deliberately trying to pen someone in.

"Is there another exit?" Skye asked.

"Most parking lots don't have just one…" she began.

The dark car's headlights flared, the lamps curiously slanted to give the car a predatory look. Its engine revved loud enough for her to hear over the Impala's idling, and Maria could have sworn it sounded almost like an angry snarl…

_Quit it, _she told herself. _This is just some moron trying to compensate for something, not a Decepticon. Your mind's still stuck in the movie…_

"I'm turning around," Skye said, and he shifted the Impala into reverse.

"Good idea," she added. "There might be an outlet on the other side…"

The sports car's engine revved again, and the entire vehicle bucked on its suspension, as if someone inside it were thrashing back and forth. Then it shuddered and began to…

_It can't be… it just can't be…_

"Oh my god!" Skye hit the gas, and the Impala lurched backward, almost colliding with a parked truck.

Maria opened her mouth to curse, only to find the words wouldn't come. She could only stare as the sports car split apart, unfolding and shifting its parts until it stood before them on two legs, its body covered in jagged plates of dark metal and vibrant violet eyes glowing in barely contained rage. A crude facsimile of a face stared down at them with disgust, and one clawed hand retracted to reveal some sort of arm cannon.

"Get us out of here!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Skye twisted the steering wheel around in a desperate bid to get them away from the creature. "Hold on tight, we're going-"

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The mech fired once into the back end of the Impala, sending it spinning and slamming into a pole. It gave a grim smile as the vehicle burst into flames, then stalked further into the parking lot, sending blasts of plasma right and left at anything that moved.

* * *

_What the hell, _Krysta thought, tilting her head to one side as she watched the transformation sequence – if it could even be called that – unfold. _Okay, that is SO cheating. You can't just use pixelization in place of an actual transformation. Half the fun of the Transformers is watching them transform and seeing where all the little bits go. This is… I dunno what this even is. It's a freaking cheat._

"The hell is this?" the guy to her right, wearing a Soundwave T-shirt and with an impressive Decepticon-symbol tattoo on his left bicep, grumbled. "Looks like a video game."

"Maybe ILM quit in the middle of the movie and they had to hire video game designers to finish it," Krysta suggested.

The guy at least had the good grace to laugh. "Maybe." He eyed her with a look of confusion. "Here with your boyfriend?"

"Nope," she replied. "I'm a fan too. Look." She turned just enough to let him see her shirt – a black T-shirt bearing an image of Megatron and the slogan "Megatron For President – Why Vote For the Lesser Evil?" True, she was wearing it with a jeans skirt and sandals – not exactly what one considered nerd attire – but she figured that most girls who got dragged into seeing a movie with their boyfriends didn't wear Transformers shirts.

"…oh." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry. I need to stop thinking that girls can't be fans-"

The man on her left, a rather corpulent fellow in a BotCon 2012 shirt and clutching an Optimus Prime toy as if it were a teddy bear, turned and gave the two of them a loud "SSSSSHHHH!" before returning his attention to the screen.

Krysta wanted to be annoyed at Prime Guy, but she knew he had a point – this was a movie theater, not a place for chitchat. She gave Soundwave Guy an apologetic smile, and he just shrugged and mouthed "talk more later" before looking back at the screen.

_Age of Extinction _was roughly halfway through its running time right now, and so far Krysta was feeling fairly well entertained, if not entirely impressed. She was going to wait until the movie was over before making a final judgment call, but right now her opinion of the film was a solid "meh, it's okay." Not great, not even particularly good, but an enjoyable time-killer if you turned your brain off for a few hours. And while the film itself was a right mess, it did have some decent parts.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she gave a quiet sigh, wondering why she hadn't just shut the thing off instead of putting it on vibrate. She'd asked Astrid not to text her during the movie, but apparently the artist wanted regular updates on how much the movie sucked. Well, she'd just have to wait until it was over before getting any sort of answer.

_Besides, she'd automatically think the movie sucks no matter what I tell her. Even having a few good scenes isn't enough for her, if it's not perfect in her eyes, it's horrible and Hasbro's selling out and… stop it, Krysta. Astrid isn't even here; don't let her spoil the movie for you…_

When the shooting began it took her – and the rest of the audience – a few seconds to realize the blasts were coming from an actual weapon and not from the action onscreen. It took a few seconds more for the reality of what was going on to sink in, but when it finally hit chaos ensued. Screaming erupted from the audience, half-drowned by the sound of the now-forgotten movie still playing. People pushed their children or loved ones down to the floor in the hopes that the theater seats would shield them, or stampeded for the exits in a mad rush to escape, or simply sat frozen in horror, not sure whether taking cover or fleeing was the best option.

Krysta was still trying to process what was happening when she saw Soundwave Guy go down with a yip of pain, a dark stain blooming on his shoulder. She dove to the floor beside him and clamped her hand over the wound in an effort to stem the bleeding. Behind her, Prime Guy began gibbering in terror, dancing madly in place as if his body had decided to run for its life but his brain was still trying to decide if that was a good idea.

"Son of a… that hurt," Soundwave Guy groaned through clenched teeth.

"I'll bet," Krysta replied, her voice quavering with barely restrained panic. She forced herself to focus on keeping pressure on the wound – if she kept herself occupied, maybe she could keep from passing out in fright.

"Just like… the Batman theater shooting," he went on. "In Colorado… some nutjob…"

"Don't try to talk," she urged. She quickly changed hands, pressing her left hand to the bullet wound so she could reach for her phone with the right. Would a 911 dispatcher even be able to hear her over the movie, which was still blasting obliviously away over the speakers…

"Holy shit, holy shit, do you guys see this, holy shit!" Prime Guy babbled.

"Get down!" Krysta barked at him.

He hit the floor with a thud, his Prime toy clattering away, though he continued to babble. "It's a Decepticon, there's a Decepticon up there and it's shooting at us!"

"That's just the screen!" Krysta shouted back, though as soon as the words left her mouth she realized that, at some point, the projection had been shut off. Gunfire and screams continued to fill the room, though, and the thick, bitter smell of gunsmoke reminded her that this wasn't just special effects or a publicity stunt, but the real deal.

"It's a freaking Decepticon!" Prime Guy insisted, pointing through a gap between the seats. "It's right there – ow!" He jerked his hand back, now bloodied from a grazing hit. "Oh god, I've been shot!"

Krysta knew she was tempting fate by doing so, but she straightened up as much as she could without removing her hand from Soundwave Guy's chest, trying to get a glimpse of the shooter. If Prime Guy wasn't just seeing things, then the shooter had probably donned a Megatron mask before entering the theater…

She was wrong. The being standing before the now-blank screen was too tall to be human. Easily fifteen feet high, if not more, it gleamed a poisonous green under the theater lights. Its armor was somehow sleek and pointed-looking at the same time, calling to mind the Transformers of the _Prime _cartoon or the _More Than Meets the Eye _comic series, and instead of a proper face it had a single violet-pink optic with a gaping opening ringed with fangs beneath. If it had proper hands, they had retracted or transformed into guns – guns that were now mostly silent, only firing sporadically as the mech tried to pick off anything that moved.

"Oh my god…" She slumped back behind the seats, feeling like she'd just taken a blow to the gut. Her hands shook, and she fought valiantly to still them. Prime Guy was right – somehow, impossibly, a Transformer was here in the theater, in the flesh… or metal, as it were.

_This would be so cool if it wasn't trying to kill us._

A nearby seat back exploded, sending foam and plastic bits raining down on the three of them. Prime Guy shrieked, Soundwave Guy hissed in pain, and Krysta just covered her head with her free arm to shield herself. The mech had them all pinned down, and if they didn't figure out how to get past it and out of here soon, they were all dead meat. The question was just how to manage that…

* * *

"Whoo, that was fun!" Amelia gushed, throwing her arms up in the air.

"Really?" asked Spencer, giving her a sidelong glance. "I didn't think you'd like a Bay movie."

"Hey, I like the Avengers movies. This wasn't a whole lot different – heroes, villains, explosions, and humans in charge acting like idiots. Besides, those flying alien ship things in the Avengers movie weren't much different from Transformers, right?"

"If the Internet found out you were comparing a Bay movie to a Joss Whedon movie, they'd probably blow a gasket."

"Then it's a good thing the Internet can't hear us right now." Amelia laughed and jogged ahead, a spring in her step. "C'mon, slowpoke! Beat you to the subway!"

Spencer just shrugged and trotted after her, pushing open the theater lobby doors and stepping out into the dark-but-not-really-dark New York City night. He hadn't expected his sister to take to the movie so well, but she had surprised him. She'd rolled her eyes at a few points, muttering "why doesn't Prime just step on the annoying meatbags already?" or something similar, but she'd also whooped with excitement at the battle and chase scenes, and the appearance of the Dinobots had put a grin of sheer delight on her face. For someone who had gone into the theater merely to humor her older brother, she had certainly come out of the theater with a whole new appreciation for the giant robots in disguise.

He sidestepped a trash can someone had tipped over as he made his way to the subway entrance. Some might argue that introducing someone to the fandom by having them watch the Bayformer movies wasn't a smart idea. But it wasn't as if she had gone in cold – she'd been looking up episodes of the show on YouTube and researching the characters on the TF Wiki, and though what she found often confused her, it at least ensured she had some idea of what was going on onscreen. Besides, did it really matter how someone got drawn into the fandom? Whether one had grown up with the show or had been recently "converted" by the movies, at the end of the day, they were still all fans.

A yawn forced its way up his throat. It was late – or early, however you classified three in the morning – and his body was protesting being up at this hour. At this rate he was going to be a zombie in the kitchen when the restaurant opened. But in his mind, the movie had been worth it. Even if it wasn't a masterpiece, Amelia was right – it had been fun.

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he ran right into Amelia, who had come to an abrupt stop. She staggered a bit but didn't respond.

"Sorry, sis."

She shook her head. "It's fine," she whispered, "but look over there." She pointed at a street corner up ahead.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" he asked. As far as he could tell, it was just a regular street corner, with a coffee shop and a traffic-light pole…

There. He saw it now. Something flickered across the street, a sleek, dark form that slipped from one shadow to another with an uncanny grace. He sucked in his breath and looked around, hoping that a member of New York City's finest was somewhere nearby, but he saw no one in uniform – indeed, didn't see much at all in the way of foot traffic. For being the city that never slept, the streets and sidewalks suddenly seemed eerily empty.

"Let's go back," Spencer advised. "We can call a cab from the theater. Saving money on a subway ticket isn't worth getting mugged."

"Good idea," Amelia whispered.

The shadow appeared again, hunched low and seeming to glide across the sidewalk. For a wild moment Spencer wondered if the potential mugger had seen too many ninja movies. But no, this wasn't humanoid... it prowled on all fours, like a panther…

"Amelia, back away slowly," he advised. "I think it's some kind of animal."

"No way," Amelia retorted quietly, though she edged backwards anyhow. "If some big cat escaped the zoo, they'd have issued some kind of alert, right?"

"We haven't exactly been paying attention to the news for the past few hours," he pointed out as he took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the coffee shop, every move slow and careful to avoid attracting attention. New Yorker or not, he had at least a little idea how to act around animals…

Their caution didn't matter – the creature broke into a fluid run, crossing the street in the blink of an eye. Its hide flashed briefly in the light of the street lamps, an almost metallic gleam that looked more navy-blue than black…

"Get inside!" he shouted, and pushed Amelia into the coffee shop. She yelped and grabbed his arm to tug him inside. Thankfully it was a twenty-four-hour establishment, even if the clerk behind the counter looked half-asleep at the moment.

"What the hell is that?" Amelia demanded as the glass door shut behind them.

"You're not going to believe me if I tell you," Spencer told her. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't – he was having a hard time believing it himself. But he was absolutely sure of what he'd seen, even if such a thing shouldn't exist…

"Try me."

He took a deep breath before replying. "Howlback."

"What?"

"Howlback. You know Ravage, that cat-shaped Decepticon in the cartoon who answers to Soundwave? Howlback's basically female Ravage, except she's navy-blue."

Amelia looked blankly at him. "This isn't the time for jokes."

"I'm serious! I think that was-"

A jangling crash ripped through the air as a sleek metallic form barreled through the window. The clerk, fully awake by now, yelped and flung the coffee pot in his hands before diving behind the counter. The improvised weapon went wide, landing on the floor and spraying coffee in a steaming swath across the glass-strewn floor.

Howlback landed with impossible lightness for a mechanical creature, and she swiveled her head around to glare at the siblings. Easily the size of a lion, if not slightly bigger, she moved smoothly and gracefully, every twitch and step accompanied by the soft grinding of gears and whirring of pistons. Silver fangs gleamed in the bright lights of the shop, and her optics glowed, not red, but a strange shade of violet that bordered on pink.

That was all he registered before the Decepticon cat tensed to spring. He had just enough time to push Amelia out of the way before Howlback was on him, claws tearing into his jeans jacket and teeth inches from his face.

"Spencer!"

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, please bear with us. We're working on the issue as we speak."

"Issue?" Dr. Henderson grumbled under her breath. "This ain't an issue, it's a crisis! We're all tired and wanna go home."

Lore couldn't exactly argue with her boss. All the euphoria and excitement from having finally seen the movie was quickly wearing off, both from the irritable crowd surrounding the two of them and from her own body complaining at being up so late. She was tired, hungry, and cranky, and her own bed had never sounded so good than at this moment.

"In the meantime, we're offering two free food vouchers for each of you," the theater manager went on. "Please enjoy a complimentary drink and snack while we work on the problem."

That seemed to allay the crowd somewhat, and they began drifting toward the concession stand while two theater workers continued to fiddle with the doors. Sometime during the showing of _Age of Extinction_some joker had managed to jam every door in the theater shut, including the fire escapes and employee entrance. That left a theater-full of upset viewers milling around in the lobby, grumbling and tired, while the employees tried to find a way to fix the problem that didn't involve chucking something heavy through a window.

"They'd better frickin' hurry," someone muttered just behind Lore. "Or someone's gonna snap and start biting people."

"No one here's that crazy," someone else responded.

"Wanna bet? Only reason someone would stick the doors closed is so they could kill everyone in the building. I saw that in a _Criminal Minds _episode once, and it was even in a theater…"

Lore wriggled her way to the edge of the crowd, trying to get away from the conversation. She was stressed out enough as it was; she didn't need someone talking about a crazy serial-killer show on top of it.

Dr. Henderson moved to join her, and she looked up at the veterinarian and blurted out the first thing to come to mind. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Dr. Henderson asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't do it. At least I hope you didn't."

"Just sorry this happened. I wanted to have a nice evening watching a movie, and then THIS happens!"

Dr. Henderson smiled and patted her shoulder. "Ain't your fault, hun. I don't blame you at all. Just frustrating when things like this happen."

That didn't make Lore feel less guilty for this whole mess, but it did ease her mind to know her boss wasn't angry with her. It had been on a complete whim that she had suggested they see the movie together – going to see a movie by herself always felt awkward, and her parents hadn't been interested in seeing a Transformersfilm at all. But Dr. Henderson had been open to seeing it, and once they had closed the clinic for the evening they had gone out for dinner before heading to the theater to await the midnight showing.

The movie had been exactly what she expected – too many humans, not enough robots, and just the right amount of explosions. So she supposed she couldn't complain that she had been disappointed in the experience. Well, except for the whole door issue, but that wasn't the fault of the movie…

An odd tickling sensation crept up her neck, and she reached up absentmindedly to brush it away. Her hand touched something with prickly legs and a hard shell, and she made a gurgling noise of disgust and swiped the creature away. Ugh, as if the night couldn't get any worse, she had a bug crawling on her! And it must have been a big one…

"Ow!" A twenty-something woman in a black tank top with a sequined Decepticon symbol swatted at her arm. "Something just bit me!"

"Something just crawled on me!" added a teenage boy in a Grimlock hoodie, dropping his nachos. "It's in my jacket, oh god, get it out!" He unzipped the hoodie and wriggled out of it, shaking it furiously.

Lore yelped as something clattered to the floor from the boy's jacket – a silvery insect as long as a stick of butter, with multiple legs and transparent wings veined in glowing violet. The bug kicked all its legs furiously, then with a deft twist of its wings righted itself, settling on all fours (sixes?) again. It looked like someone had cut the head off a spider and grafted it onto the body of a housefly – it had the oblong body and clear wings of the latter but the multi-eyed head and hooked fangs of the former. And there was an odd texture to its body, as if it were made of metal…

The teenager gave a wordless cry of disgust and stomped on the insect. It crunched loudly, as if he'd stepped on a soda can, and when he pulled his foot away what was left of the bug twitched and sparked, wires and computer chips sizzling ineffectually.

"It's… a robot," Lore realized.

"Dude, that's awesome," the teen gushed, and bent over to pick up the remains of the creature.

"Don't touch that thing!" Dr. Henderson snapped. "Who knows where it's been…"

More screams and shouts sounded, and several people began slapping at themselves as more of the mechanical bugs started biting. A horrible thrum filled the room as the robotic insects swarmed, seeming to crawl out of nowhere to attack the trapped theater patrons. People stomped and swatted, trying desperately to shoo the creatures off, but to no avail. For every one they managed to crush, four more would take its place. And their bites left puncture marks that bled profusely, smearing faces and arms with bright red.

Pain twinged in Lore's arm, and she slapped frantically at the bitten area to dislodge her attacker. Blood welled up to stain her shirt sleeve, but she ignored it for now. No use worrying about her shirt when they were all being eaten alive by robot bugs. They had to get out of here, now!

One lone theater worker was still working frantically at the doors – the others were howling and trying desperately to shoo away the bugs. One had managed to get his hands on a mop and was waving it through the air like a giant flyswatter, while another just ran mindlessly in circles flailing his arms. The man at the doors kept working grimly, jaw set, heedless of the bugs that settled on his arms and back and sank their pincers deep in his skin. At least someone here had kept their head on their shoulders.

Lore rushed to the employee's side and promptly raided his toolbox, pulling out the heaviest wrench she could find. Forget getting the doors unlocked – they could all be eaten alive by the time he managed to jimmy the lock open. She was going for the fastest way out.

Before anyone could stop her, she hurled the wrench at the nearest window.

* * *

"This isn't going to work."

Vector gave a deep sigh and turned to regard the mechanism at his side. "We've only viewed a small portion of those humans devoted to our kind, Solus. Don't write them all off as worthless just yet."

"I've seen enough to make up my mind," she snapped. "Turning the weapons of the Blades over to these… fanatics would be like giving a sparkling a flamethrower. It's a recipe for disaster."

"Sparklings can be educated on how best to use the tools they are given," he reminded her.

"Do we have time to educate them?" she countered. "Or would we be better off finding the devout among our own kind?"

He didn't answer her, and instead returned his attention to the screen before him, which displayed a human male's personal quarters. In his opinion, scouring the multiverse for the remaining devotees of Primus would take far longer than selecting five likely candidates from among the humans of this sub-universe. The pool of potential applicants would be far larger, for one thing. And if it meant they had to spend some time teaching the humans about their duties – and correcting whatever misinformation existed about their kind – then so be it.

The man on the screen was hunched over a keyboard, a scowl on his face as he typed rapidly away. The room around him had been transformed into what could only be called a shrine to Cybertronian-kind – shelves crowded with miniature replicas of Cybertronians from every universe lined the walls, and the gaps between the shelves bore posters bearing the images of famous Autobots and Decepticons, mostly Optimus Prime and Megatron but with a prominently displayed Grimlock hanging right over the bed. The shelf over the computer desk was crammed with computer games, books, and DVDs, almost all in some way related to their kind, and a model of Predaking in his dragon form clung to the top of the LED monitor, glowering down at whatever the man was working on.

Even as the two Firstforged watched the man swore under his breath and began typing faster. From this angle neither could see what he was typing, but it seemed to have him worked into a frenzy.

"_Stupid n00b." _His voice sounded oddly tinny over the viewscreen's speaker, though considering the signal had to cross multiple universes and enter the Nexus Point for them to view and listen, it was a wonder it wasn't more distorted. _"If you don't know what terms like 'gestalt' or 'Diaclone' mean, you ain't got no business calling yourself a fan…"_

"_Cameron, it's dinnertime!" _another voice sounded from offscreen. _"I'm not going to call you again!"_

"_In a minute!" _"Cameron" retorted. _"I told you I'm in the middle of something, dammit!"_

"_Don't talk to your mother that way! Now hurry up before it gets cold!"_

From his perch on Vector's shoulder, Safeguard broke into a fit of chirping giggles. Vector elected to ignore him for now.

"This is ridiculous," Solus muttered. "How can someone who's never even seen a real Cybertronian be so obsessed with them?"

"I don't know," Vector confessed, "but I suspect Primus' hand in this. He must have realized that there would come a time when Cybertronian faith would fail, and prepared a contingency plan."

"If that's so, why didn't he just do something to bolster Cybertronian faith in the first place? Such as intervene in the war or make a personal appearance at some point?"

"Primus' ways are not for us to understand-"

"That again." She snorted through her facial vents, scowling. "Sometimes I think our creator just flat-out doesn't care about us anymore."

Vector's optics brightened at that, but he tried to keep his faceplate composed. Such words coming from the vocalizer of a Firstforged were practically blasphemy. He could only hope others didn't share Solus' cynicism.

"We'll need to contact as many of the devoted as possible," he said at last. "Approach them and tell them what's going on, and ask if they are willing to volunteer. From there, we'll sift through the volunteers and find which of them are worthy to wield the weapons of the Blades."

"And what precisely is going to qualify them to be worthy?" Solus asked. "As much as Alpha Trion spoke of will and belief, those will only get our volunteers so far if they can't even lift the weapons-"

Safeguard gave a high shriek, and Vector's attention snapped back to the screen. The door to Cameron's quarters had swung open with a creak of hinges, and the human had whirled around with his mouth open to berate whoever had come in. His mouth remained hanging open as he got a good look at what filled the doorway, eyes almost bulging from his skull.

Solus' hands tightened into fists. "Great novas…"

Vector felt every joint in his body lock in sudden horror. The creature hunched on the other side of the door might have once been an Insecticon… but some dark force had twisted it nearly beyond recognition. It was relatively small for a Cybertronian, only about ten feet tall, but it still towered over the unfortunate human. It was a mess of jagged plating and wicked spikes, its armor dark as if with char but an eerie violet light shining from its joints, its optics, and from between its serrated dental plates. An acidic-green fluid drooled from its open jaws – jaws that parted in a savage smile as it locked its optics on the young man.

Cameron screamed, grabbed his chair, and flung it at the nearby window with a strength born of pure hysteria. The projectile missed its mark, smashing into the Grimlock poster and ripping it down the center as it fell onto the bed. The Insecticon stared for a moment, as if trying to understand what Cameron was hoping to accomplish, then prowled into the room with a gurgling hiss.

Vector shook himself out of his shock and touched a hand to the side of his helm. _Firstforged, assemble now! In the Chamber of Primus in the Nexus Point! Unicron has made his first move, and we must act fast to stop him!_

How Unicron could have anticipated their plan so quickly – and acted to thwart it – was a puzzle Vector would have to unravel later. For now, they would need all their speed – and all his skill at manipulating the timestream – to save as many of the devotees as possible. He could only hope they weren't already too late.


End file.
